


Not Over You

by JustAnotherUnderstudy



Series: Fix You [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M | Olivia Mansfield Lives, Plotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherUnderstudy/pseuds/JustAnotherUnderstudy
Summary: M had always been better for him than the bottle. Somewhere between "Leave him," and "Take the bloody shot," James forgot that truth.
Relationships: (past), James Bond/M, James Bond/M | Olivia Mansfield, James Bond/Madeleine Swann
Series: Fix You [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619116
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Not Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was going to have part 4 of the Fix You stories be back and forth between M and James but I decided to change that. This was supposed to be part of chapter 2 where he was thinking of what happened after he left Q while he's talking to M. Now it's just a one-shot of James' path from the museum to M's flat.

_If you ask me how I'm doin'_  
_I would say I'm doin' just fine_  
_I would lie and say that you're not on my mind_  
_But I go out_  
_And I sit down_  
_At a table set for two_  
_And finally I'm forced to face the truth_  
_No matter what I say_  
_I'm, not over you_

* * *

The rain was torrential.

'How fitting,' James thought as he sat in his car in the car park outside the train depot.

A few blocks away from the museum he'd seen the depot and pulled into a parking space. Now he stared out the windscreen trying to decide what to do next.

He had fully intended to do exactly what he'd inferred to Q, go home and get drunk, again. But as he drove away, he could feel the pull to see M and it quickly became more compelling than the bottle.

Finally, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Madeleine.

"James?" she sounded worried. "Where are you?"

"I'm out," he said. "I won't be home for a while."

"How long is a while?" she asked.

"At least several days, maybe longer," he said.

"What? But we have plans tomorrow night," she cried.

'You had plans,' he thought. 'I am just going through the motions.'

"Look, Madeleine," he said aloud. "You wanted me to get help. I'm going to get help."

There was silence at the other end of the line as Madeleine recovered from her surprise.

"Where will you be?" she finally asked.

James felt a pang of guilt over the way her voice quivered. He knew this was important to her, though it was important to her for all the wrong reasons.

"I can't tell you," he said. "I'll call you later."

He hung up the phone and put it in the glove box. Then he opened the door and popped his umbrella up.

When he entered the station, he lowered the umbrella and scanned the room. He found what he was looking for and made his way a man who was trying to calm one of his two children. The child, who looked only around two, had wet stockings and was crying. His other child, a boy of about five, was sitting on a bench watching the proceedings with bored interest.

"This your dad's umbrella?" James asked, picking up the small, black object.

The boy nodded warily at James.

"Looks a bit small for the three of you," he said.

That did the trick, apparently, and the boy sighed loudly.

"Yeah, that's why my sister and me are all wet," he said and pointed to his own wet socks on his feet.

"Well, I have a nice large umbrella, would you like to trade?" James asked.

He gave the boy a smile he hadn't used in over a year. It was the soft one he rarely had a chance to use with M, one that had always made him feel more human than his work allowed.

"I'll ask my dad," he said.

"No, he's busy," James said. "Just take it, and here's a twenty pound note in case it's a problem. I have to make my train."

He moved so quickly the boy really didn't have time to respond. But as James lost himself quickly in the crowd, he heard the boy's voice excitedly calling for his father. James hoped he hadn't caused too much trouble and the father would be content with the money and a far better quality umbrella that the ratty one James now possessed.

He approached the side exit toward the street and again popped open an umbrella. He hoped with the din of people he might be missed to all but Q, if Madeleine got worried and called Mallory. And he counted on Q to keep it under wraps since the young man would suspect James was about to do exactly what Q wanted him to.

A cab would be impossible tonight, he knew that, so he hopped on the next bus just to get out of the rain and try to get himself together. He was going to have to break into her flat, which was likely not as secure as the last two, but it would still pose a problem.

James settled back into the bus and wondered if Q would check the camera here. He doubted it. In fact, Q might not have to check it at all. M would probably kick him out on his arse, despite Q's dreamy notion that she missed James. And he could go back to Madeleine before he drank himself into another stupor.

'Damn,' he thought. 'I should have waited until I was sober a few more days.'

His mind was still fuzzy from the alcohol. He really couldn't recall the last time he was sober for longer than a few hours before he got Q's message. He leaned back on the bench and let himself be taken to wherever this bus was heading.

When the end of the line was announced he was surprised to find himself in a place he knew somewhat well. He walked quickly down the street and toward his destination despite the rain coming down in sheets now. The umbrella he had traded for was too small for even one person, in his opinion, and he wondered why any Londoner would own such a worthless thing. But it did keep the rain off his head, so James hurried on.

He turned down an alley and walked a few meters before stopping in front of a metal rolling door. He pulled his keys out and undid the lock. The door went up quickly and smoothly, and James entered with a sigh of relief to finally be out of the rain.

After he rolled the door back down he turned to stare at the few contents of the storage room. On a table he'd brought in to keep the items off the floor was some gear, his go bag, and a porcelain, Union Jack-draped bulldog.

The storage room was for the bulldog.

Madeleine couldn't stand it. She especially couldn't stand that it was in their bedroom. That, James could deal with. But then she started asking why he, who cared so little to have physical possessions, was attached to the hideous thing.

She went out shopping the next day and James called the storage facility where M had put his things after he faked his death. They had the same storage room available.

For a while, it was just the dog on the table. But as Madeleine continued to prod, he began to add the other items in his more sober moments. He never really thought he'd have need of them.

James began to shuck his wet clothing and hung it off the table. He took out the sleeping bag, which he was glad was specifically for the coldest weather, and laid it out on the floor. He emptied the backpack of most of it's contents, leaving in only the spare clothing, then used it for a pillow when he got into the bag.

When James opened his eyes, he was surprised it was morning. He must have been more exhausted than he'd thought to fall asleep so quickly and sleep so deeply for that long. He also noticed that for the first time in ages his mind was clear. He breathed deeply and thought through his next actions which were just to figure out how to break into M's flat.

Twelve hours later James found himself wandering through her rooms, trying to work out a story in his head about how she had been spending her time.

It had been ridiculously easy to access the building and M's floor. He wanted to throttle Mallory.

He took the liberty of shaving in her bath and trying to smarten up enough so she might not be as quick to toss him out. He thoroughly cleaned up after himself then watched out the bedroom window which faced onto the street.

When he saw her leave the cab, he hurried back to the living room to set the stage.


End file.
